Father Arthur moved behind the altar and took a moment to collect himself. The pinks and reds and purples of the stained glass window gave his white robes a pink hue. I breathed in the familiar scent and took a mental picture of the moment. Of Arthur in the chapel where he belongs. After a moment or two, we all fell silent and he lifted his arms.
‘Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name …’
There are some words in the Lord’s Prayer that I don’t know. But I do know the word art. It’s a necessary inclusion, I think. We should all be artists. Especially if God is doing art in heaven; we should follow his example.
‘Our lives are rich with blessings. Sometimes we stop to count them and sometimes we don’t. Having worked at this hospital for many years, I have often pondered whether I have made any difference to the hospital, and in the end, all I can really know for certain is that the hospital has made a difference to me. I count myself blessed to have spent my days here, worked here and prayed here. And I will be forever changed by the people I have met and their bravery, their courage and their light.’ He looked at me then and took a deep breath. ‘And with that in mind, we will offer up our thanks to God …’
This time, nobody fell asleep and I didn’t feel like laughing. I wanted to stop the clocks. I wanted Arthur to stay. And I was worried for Arthur – what would happen to him? Did he have a pension? Would Mrs Hill still make him those egg and cress sandwiches when he was no longer a priest? And what in God’s name was he going to do all day?
All too soon, it was over.
‘Go in peace to love and serve the Lord,’ he said. And I didn’t realize I was clapping until I was already doing it. From further down the pew, Margot joined in and the clap grew, until a ripple of applause was emanating from the various artists of the Rose Room.
Arthur blushed and nodded. ‘Thank you.’
As we made our way, oh so slowly, to the door, Arthur asked Pippa, ‘Can I have a word with Lenni? It won’t take a second.’
Pippa agreed and shuffled out with the others.
‘You know,’ Margot said to Else as they made their way to the door, ‘Father Arthur looks very familiar, but I can’t quite put my finger on it. Do you think he’s been on the television?’
‘Well, it was a very unusual service,’ I heard Else saying from the corridor. ‘My first husband was an Anglican, my second a Methodist and my third a Catholic, and it seemed like a mix of all three.’ I didn’t get to hear whether anyone agreed with her or not, because the heavy door closed behind them.
I walked back down the aisle to see Father Arthur with a sad smile.
‘Thank you,’ he said.
‘For what?’
‘I’m going to miss you, Lenni.’
I reached out and gave him a hug. His robes smelled of fabric conditioner, which was an absurdly homely smell for sacred robes. ‘Thanks for everything, Father Arthur,’ I said into his shoulder.
He drew back.
‘Can I come and visit?’ he asked.
‘If you don’t, I’ll never forgive you,’ I said. I reached out a hand to lean on the pew beside me because everything was hurting. I had （on pain of death） forced Pippa to leave ‘my’ wheelchair outside the chapel.
‘I promise I will visit,’ he said, and then he stopped. ‘You asked me, Lenni, to tell you something true, when we’d only just met. Do you remember?’
‘I do.’
‘Well, this is my final truth: if I had a granddaughter, I would want her to be exactly like you.’
And because he was about to cry, I held out my right hand. He looked confused.
‘It started with a handshake.’ I smiled.
Understanding, he put his hand in mine.
‘Until the next time, Lenni,’ he said, shaking me by the hand.
And when I had taken back my hand from his, he said, ‘Take care,’ with such force that it was as though he thought the more emphatically he said it, the more likely it was to happen. That if only I could just bloody take care of myself, I might not die.
I was putting a lot of work into not crying, so I left him standing in the chapel and managed to make it to the wheelchair without stumbling. Taking care, as he hoped I would.
And then it was over. Pippa very kindly wheeled my chair for me, and we occupants of the Rose Room made our way back to our art supplies. ‘Thank you,’ I said to them, and when they told me it had been no trouble, I had to stare up at the bright lights on the ceiling of the corridor to keep from crying.